


The Peacemaker

by the_random_writer



Series: Movie Night [2]
Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Crack, Gun Kink, Insults, M/M, Military Kink, Movie Night, Snark, Teasing, Television
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 11:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: It's movie night in the Grady and Garrett household, and interesting conversations abound...Hoping to make this an ongoing thing - each new 'Movie Night' story will cover the boys watching a different movie.I'm not a fan of the chapter system, so will publish each story standalone within a series.Don't worry if you haven't seen the movie - the story should still make sense :-)





	The Peacemaker

A handsome man and a beautiful woman were racing against the clock, trying to dismantle a dirty bomb that would take out half of Manhattan with less than a minute to spare.

It was all very tense and exciting, but Ty had more pressing concerns. "Which one would you rather fuck?" he asked, gesturing at the screen. He didn't bother to press the Pause button; the story wasn't so interesting or complicated they needed to hear every last word the two actors were saying.

The question took Zane by surprise. "Sorry, what?"

"Clooney or Kidman," Ty explained. "Which one would you rather fuck?"

Zane pursed his lips and swirled his ice cubes around in his drink. "Not sure," he eventually said. "They're both pretty fit. Might need to give it some thought."

Ty sighed and shook his head. Zane and his number-crunching thing. Bad enough that it usually took him a week to figure out something as basic and simple as the list of books to add to the store's re-order list. Now, he couldn't even decide who he theoretically wanted to fuck without running the input data through a month of quantitative analysis first? "It's a simple question, Lone Star. I'm not asking you to solve the Gettier Problem or come up with an explanation for the meaning of life."

"Okay, if it's such a simple question, why don't you answer it first?" Zane shot back. "Which one would _you_ rather fuck?"

Ty had his answer ready—he'd been thinking about it for almost an hour. "Clooney. Hands down."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Zane swirled his ice cubes again. "Huh."

"Why so surprised?"

"He just doesn't seem like the kind of guy you would ever want to ball," Zane explained, sounding a mixture of perplexed and disappointed. He wrinkled his nose. "He's a good-looking man, no argument there, but he's awfully…" He trailed off, obviously struggling to find the right word.

"Smug?" Ty prompted.

Zane nodded, grinned and leaned out to set his glass on the table. "I was gonna go with glib, but smug works just as well."

"Just to be clear, I don't mean current, real-life, Oscar-winning, social crusader Clooney," Ty added, feeling the need to defend his decision. "I mean Clooney before he was really famous, back when he was still young and hot." With dark eyes, a beguiling grin and a sprinkling of silver in his short hair…

"Back before he got really smug."

"Exactly."

Zane heaved an achingly wistful sigh. "He is _outrageously_ good-looking in this."

"Beautiful smile."

"Amazing ass."

"Cute hair."

"Cute uniform."

If only for purely professional reasons, Ty couldn't _quite_ let that compliment pass. "Yeah, but it's a _Ranger_ uniform," he complained. "I mean, it's sharp and all, don't get me wrong, and he fills it out _very_ nicely, but my dad always told me to never trust anyone who wears a beret."

"Give you a cover or give you death, right?"

"Ooh-fucking-rah to that."

Zane shrugged. "Could be worse. At least he's not an Air Force guy."

"Please," Ty scoffed. "As if they'd ever call in a Chair Force guy to deal with a terrorist with a dirty bomb. My mom would do a better job. Hell, _your_ mom would do a better job. She'd just disapprove the bomb into disarming." Ty didn't really mean that, of course—he knew the men and women who served in the Air Force were just as skilled and trained as him, but he _was_ an ex-Recon marine. He could no more pass up a chance to insult another branch of the service than he could stick a feather in his ass and fly.

"So, why wouldn't you do her?" Zane asked.

The change of direction caught Ty off-guard. "Who?"

"Kidman."

Ty wagged a correcting finger. "I didn't say I _wouldn't_ do her," he explained. "I just said out of the two, I'd rather do Clooney." Although, now he thought about it again, why not both of them at the same time? Hmm. He might need to give that idea some _very_ serious thought. It could be an even more interesting combination than Branson the driver and Lady Mary or Captain America and Maria Hill…

"I thought you liked women with that colour of hair."

"I do."

"And you told Livi you liked capable women, which I'm pretty sure Nicole Kidman is."

"Yeah?"

"But you're still gunning for Clooney?"

Ty narrowed his eyes at his spouse. With that particular turn of phrase, he knew Zane was playing him, now. Had his husband surmised the truth—that his preference for Clooney was mostly because his character was packing a gun? Should he come clean and give Zane the satisfaction of knowing he'd once again hit his husband's kinks on the head?

Nuh uh. Not a chance. Absolutely couldn't do it.

Ty knew that if he mentioned the gun, Zane would rag him about it for _months_. And as it happened, in this instance, the gun wasn't his only reason for preferring the handsome dude to the chick. "I would actually go for Kidman instead, it's just…"

"What?"

On second thoughts, his other reason really wasn't much better.

"It's just…" Ty repeated, still reluctant to confess to his sins.

"Jesus, Meow Mix, spit it out."

"She's _Australian_ ," Ty revealed.

Zane actually laughed out loud. "The hell's wrong with that?"

"It's the _accent_ , man. Like nails down a goddamn board. I'd do her, but only if she agreed not to speak."

"Says the man who sounds like he stepped out of a _Deliverance_ movie."

" _Deliverance_ was set in Georgia," Ty huffily reminded his spouse. " _I'm_ from West Virginia."

"Doesn't mean you don't sound like a chicken-molesting rube. For all we know, your accent could be just as hard on her as hers is on you. If she lowered herself to let you do her, _you_ might have to agree not to speak as well."

"We'd be the verbal equivalent of a two-bagger, huh?"

"I kinda like the Aussie accent," Zane revealed. "Sounds exotic."

"You're from Texas. You think Wisconsin's exotic."

"That new couple who just moved in at the end of the street, I heard them talking the other day, he's American, but I'm pretty sure she's from Australia."

Ty shook his head. He'd already met them himself, so knew the truth was even weirder than that. "She's from New Zealand."

"How'd you know that?"

"Bumped into them the other morning on the way to the store, gave them the 'hi, welcome to the neighbourhood' speech, mentioned the accent, asked her where she was from."

Zane cocked a brow. "So, she's a Kiwi, then?"

"From Wuhlington, yeah."

"Don't think that's how they pronounce it, doll."

"Was how she pronounced it. Not gonna argue with a born-and-bred native."

"That's fucked up."

"Not as fucked up as what she does with her vowels." Ty shuddered slightly, feigning disgust. "Flatter than goddamn piss on a plate. I swear she almost managed to talk without actually moving her mouth."

"Better or worse than an Aussie?"

"Not sure. Would have to spend some time comparing." Which, given his aversion to the Aussie accent, and the scarcity of New Zealanders in this part of the world, wouldn't happen anytime soon.

"Pretty sure you'd come out thinking the Aussie accent was better," Zane confidently declared.

"Makes you say that?"

"New Zealand's just Australia's version of Canada. You'd never throw your lot in with a Canada over a United States."

That was a strange but logical view to take. "I guess."

"Don't think they play hockey in New Zealand, though," Zane added, taking the conversation off on another one of his tangents again.

"The way the playoffs are going right now, they're not playing it much in Canada, either."

"Wouldn't know. I only watch proper sports."

"What, like line dancing?"

"Hey, that's very manly where I'm from!"

A burst of noise drew their attention back to the screen. "Oh, look," Ty said. "They disarmed the bomb."

"Gee, what a surprise," Zane said in the flattest of tones. "And here, I was _so_ looking forward to watching New York being irradiated."

"Don't think the Company would approve of you saying something like that."

"Rogoski would. She spent two years in the New York office on 71st. Fucking hates the place. Last time I saw her, she told me that if it was up to her, she'd raze Manhattan to the ground, then take off and nuke the city from orbit, just to be sure."

There was another movie to add to the list. "I'm gonna assume that hasn't come up as a flag during her annual lie-detector test."

"You can't answer a question that doesn't get asked."

The movie location shifted again—Kidman's character was doing laps in a swimming pool now.

"Clooney better get a move on," Ty warned.

"Why?"

"The characters are both attractive, single, heterosexual people, right?"

"I assume so, yeah."

"Which means, according to Hollywood rules, Clooney has to at least kiss her before the end of the movie." Ty grabbed the remote to press the Info button. "There's only eleven minutes left, and most of that'll go to the credits. If he doesn't get his shit together, he'll only have Pamela and her sisters to keep him warm."

"Not gonna happen. The Russian guy at the start was right. Her character's _way_ too good for his. She's _literally_ a rocket scientist, for Christ's sake. She managed to defuse a dirty bomb using a hair pin and a knife. He's just some Army grunt."

Ex-recon marine or not, Ty couldn't let that one slide. "A highly-skilled, highly-trained, highly-decorated Army grunt." And probably Special Forces as well, based on the uniform tabs. He was wearing standard, low-quarter shoes instead of the jump boots for Special Forces, but that was probably a wardrobe error.

"Aww, what's the matter, doll?" Zane drawled, pretending to look concerned. "Is me calling the hot dude a grunt hitting a little too close to home?"

"A tiny bit, yeah."

Zane's expression softened into a smile. "You're not a grunt, Meow Mix. Never have been, never will."

"Thanks. I think."

"Although…"

'What?" Ty curtly asked, thinking that if Zane was about to spring another one of his puns, they'd need a defuser all of their own…

"They _do_ say the word 'marine' stands for Muscles Are Required, Intelligence Not Essential, so…"

Ty stabbed the Power Off button, suddenly wishing he could use it on his husband as well. "If I had a dollar for every time someone's told me that joke, _I'd_ be the rich one in this marriage," he retorted. "Oh, and you know what else won't be required if you keep running your mouth like that?"

"My dick?" Zane correctly guessed.

Huffing, Ty pointed to the TV. "Let's just say that right this minute, you have more of a chance of sleeping with George Clooney than me."

"That's a shame."

"Why?"

"Cus I was just about to take you upstairs and show you what a Peacemaker is." Zane slowly finished his drink then set his empty glass on the table. "Guess that'll just have to wait."

Regret was already sinking in. "Is it fun?" Ty asked. "This Peacemaker thing?"

Zane gave him a withering glare.

So that was a 'yes'.

Hmm.

On second thoughts, perhaps he should put his sanctions aside and work on rebuilding his diplomatic relations instead?

 

 

 

 


End file.
